Famous Last Words (a Tomb of Ashen Tears Book 2)

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  “Wait…where are you?” I yell, waking Ronnie up. She gives a concerned look. “Where are you?”

  “I’m somewhere, barefoot in the jungle.”

  Without any of my electronics, I cannot log into the system. I cannot track her. “Where did you go?”

  “I ran off.”

  “I need you to stop moving.”

  “Do you ever wonder why drones stop where they do? They swoop and dive and buzz, always knowing where they’re going, but I’m so lost.”

  I cover the mic on the phone and urge, “I need another phone! Now!”

  Ronnie slides off the sofa and rummages through her desk. She tosses the phone across the room, and I catch it. I don’t have any other choice but to call Dom. I know he can get her out of wherever she is at.

  He answers on the first damn ring.

  “Dom, I need you to track Iris…she keeps saying she is lost in the jungle,” I stress as the code in my mind cranks into overdrive. I’m pissed. “Iris, baby, I need you to hold on.”

  “She’s in the hospital, Sal,” Dom replies.

  “Fuck!”

  “I need you to stay put in Texas,” Dom implores as I hear his computer booting up. “She was admitted at 7:44 in the morning.”

  “Can you get to the chart?”

  “I’m checking now,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Why isn’t she in London?”

  I roll my eyes, not wanting to confess our hidden agenda. “Angel, are you there?”

  “I need to go,” she quietly mutters. “They’re here with me now. We’re going to the jungle.”

  “I love you more than words, baby.”

  She sighs. “Okay. Love you.”

  I furrow my brow at her simple words. She never drops the I. She isn’t right. Or maybe she is. “Dom…where is Mitch?”

  “Mitch is…off-line?” he questions, stumped. “He took a plane last night to Florida from Dallas. Two passengers.”

  “Do you ever wonder why drones stop where they do? They swoop and dive and buzz, always knowing where they’re going, but I’m so lost.”

  “Drones…” I mumble, trying to figure her riddle out. “Bees! The Beekeeper is Cas, and the Jungle is Saber. They’ve got her! You need to get someone there!”

  “I’m calling Bianchi now.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “Bianchi is taking his team ASAP,” he comments, pissed off. “Why isn’t she off the grid yet, Boston?”

  “Because I didn’t adhere to the agenda, Sir.”

  “Okay, well the chart just came up, and they’re running a rape kit now, so who the fuck do you think they’re pinning this one on?”

  I close my eyes. “Probably me.”

  “I suppose we’ll know soon enough,” Dom curtly blasts. “You fucked this one up.”

  “I’m stuck in fucking Wiggs,” I agonize, putting my elbows to my knees and gripping my hair. I’m rocking—fast. “I cannot get out.”

  “It wouldn’t matter if you could,” he chastises with a coldness. “What do you think would be different? You still didn’t listen. Now we’re going to be dealing with trumped-up rape charges. I, for one, think we have enough on our plate, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir.” I hear the click and close my eyes.

  From the desk, Ronnie gazes over me. “Defeat is not a good look on you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I’m not sure anyone can do anything. I was given instructions. I was warned to get her out of North America. I didn’t listen, so I’m pretty much fucked.”

  “You need a shower. Some food. And some rest.” She points to her bathroom. “Don’t make me get Tucker on your ass.”

  I stumble to the bathroom, strip off my clothes, and let the hot water pour over me. Breaking down, I cry for the mistakes I’ve made, but I wonder when do I get to be accountable for my sins? When do I get to stop being reprimanded like a naughty teenager and treated like an adult? When does that time happen? When do the mistakes become my own?

  Grabbing a towel, I wrap it around my waist and walk back into the office.

  Ronnie’s eyes widen. “Lord, have mercy, Sugar!”

  While I’m flattered, it does little to push my boundary. “Do you have some clothes?” I ask as the water droplets cover every inch of tanned olive skin. The curls drip as I prop on the edge of the sofa. The towel buckles dangerously close to showing off the goods. “Or would you prefer I stay like this?”

  “Can you just hush?” she asks, lifting a finger. “For one minute, don’t talk.”

  My eyebrow arches as I take the edge of the towel between my thumb and forefinger. Her breath hangs on every move, and I cannot help but let out a chuckle.

  “You need to eat. And sleep!”

  “Ronnie?”

  “Yes?”

  “I also need to get dressed.”

  Batting her lashes, she grins.

  And I do, too.

  48

  His Darkness Is My Light

  The darkness permeates through my soul when I wake up the next morning. I slept over fifteen hours, which is almost unheard of for me. In a pair of black joggers, I sit shirtless in the middle of the sofa.

  “How long are you going to sit there and stare at the owl?”

  “Until I figure out what to do.”

  In the middle of the night, I dipped down to kiss her lips as Deacon challenged everything we believed in. We were no longer three souls searching for who we were, but one unified spirit.

  “Let’s go further,” Iris moaned, gazing at me. “I want you to trust me completely.”

  My fingers brushed along the edge of her cheek. “What do you mean, princess?”

  “I want you and him…in the water…under the stars…”

  I glanced at Deacon and back to Iris, before asking, “Right now?”

  Her sapphires danced to mine. “Right now.”

  Deacon pulled from her still erect. I flicked my gaze down and knew this moment was special. We would never have this dynamic again with anyone other than three of us.

  We opened the double French doors of the bedroom, each holding one of her hands and danced through the house naked. We were frolicking and free. Nothing mattered. Not the club. Not the business. Not the agency. We were three souls savoring in a moment.

  Iris was bouncing in the kitchen as Deacon made a pitcher of margaritas and something caught my eye outside. I turned in just enough time to see the gun pointing at Iris. I grabbed her and tossed her to the floor as I yelled, “Cruz!”

  The bullets zipped through the air and shattered glass scattered like diamonds. “Go get in the dungeon, Iris. Nowala!”

  Before I could stop him, Cruz was up and outside, beating the crap out of the masked shooter. Jab after jab to the face and gut, Cruz was a relentless monster. He pulled the taut black fabric from his face. “Who fucking sent you?”

  “I was paid ten grand to kill the girl.”

  Through gritted teeth, Deacon hissed, “Who fucking paid you?”

  “One of his Daddy’s men.”

  With the force of a jackhammer, Cruz laid his fist into him. Blood splattered over his skin as he knocked the guy’s head into the ground. Knowing he was dead, I yelled, “Cruz! Calm!” He tried to swing at me when I latched onto his fist. “Calm! It’s Nero!”

  “Nobody is taking her away from you—ever,” he threatened, heaving. I offered him a hand. We were naked, covered in blood, with a dead body lying at our feet.

  Iris came running back through the kitchen. “Watch the glass…” Before I could get the words out, she went flying out the door but managed to regain her balance. Her feet were gushing, but she sprinted down the steps.

  “What the hell?” She bellowed, unaware of her injury. “Why is Tock dead?”

  “… Why do I know that name?”

  “Because you caught me giving him a blow job in the dark alley outside the bookstore years ago.”

  My expression contorted w
ith a questioning look.

  “Snowballing Sal! We were snowballing!”

  “Oh, fuck, yes!”

  “You’re so dense sometimes when you can’t get a good mental snapshot. It’s the weirdest fucking trait ever.”

  “Hush it, Dandy.”

  Deacon glanced between us. “…Snowballing?”

  “Yeah, it’s when you...” Iris explained.

  “I know what the fuck snowballing is,” Deacon interrupted. “What the hell are we going to do with a dead Puerto Rican?”

  “I don’t know,” Iris scoffed, eyeing the body. “But I’m not fucking him no more.”

  Deacon and I erupted in a hysterical fit of laughter. I finally regained my composure and casually mentioned, “I’ll call someone to clean this up.”

  “Pity,” Iris sighed, slightly glum. “He wasn’t a half-bad lay.”

  Without any warning, Deacon’s eyes opened wide as he picked her ass up onto his shoulder and tossed her into the pool. She resurfaced, wiping her eyes, and giggling.

  “If you ever say anything like that again in front of me, I will rip you a second ass for my pleasure,” he snapped, slightly erect, and pointing with his finger. “Do you understand me, young lady?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Biting her lip, she flirted. “Are you going to get…in?”

  “Why would I do that?” Deacon baited with a shrug. “Your feet are fucking covered in glass!”

  “And you’re not afraid to murder someone with your bare hands…” She flipped back into the water, giving us both the perfect view of everything she had.

  “That girl,” Deacon warned, thumping me in the chest. “Is fucking trouble.”

  I laughed as he dove into the water. “Don’t I know it. You both are.”

  With a corpse less than ten feet away, I was naked on the deck while my girl and my best friend were making out in the pool. I was feeling left out and getting a hard-on, so I did the only logical thing. I grabbed my phone from the kitchen, a sheet from the linen cabinet, the pitcher of margaritas, and a pack of smokes.

  Oh, what a night…

  Several hours later, the phone rings and Ronnie answers it. “Hold on,” she says, looking at me. “Dominic Gennaro.”

  I nod as she hands it to me.

  “Yes?”

  “Rape kit came back.”

  Ducking my head into my hand, I snicker, “And my DNA was all up in that bitch.”

  “No,” Dom harshly remarks. “Not even close.”

  “What?”

  “Do you think we’ll ever be free?” Iris asked, sitting on the lounger. It was the same weekend, but later in the day. With her hair twirled up, she was wearing Deacon’s cut and my sunglasses. And she looked hot as fucking hell.

  Ned “Junior” Gramble had removed the body because the actual janitorial crew was handling another issue. Deacon and I wore swim trunks as we took turns scrubbing the bricks. “I wish you would have told me how hard blood is to get off stones,” Deacon said with a cigarette between his lips. “I would’ve just drowned his ass.”

  “I need another beverage, boys.”

  “Fire up another bowl,” Deacon suggested.

  “So, I can get high, and you two can go all six ways with three holes? Or is that three ways with two holes? Or two ways with six holes?”

  With a big smile, I chuckled. “Darlin, how much ganja have you had?”

  “Whatever was in the baggie in this leather thing,” she said, examining it. “Vest! My tit cover!”

  “Yes, baby, your tit cover…”

  “Shit man,” Deacon said, shaking his head. “She’s fucked until Monday. You want a beer?”

  “Ya,” I said, stepping into the water and sitting on the edge of the pool. Iris was beyond wasted and blowing bubbles from a wand I gave her earlier. Deacon popped the tops on two beers and handed me one. “Well, she’s gotten into the toys.”

  “Just don’t give her any nipple clamps,” he said, taking a swig. “She’ll end up putting both ends on her asshole and thinking it’s a jump rope.”

  I spit out my beer. “Are you having fun?”

  “Yeah, I mean we had some sex, killed a guy, had some more sex in the pool, got your girl blazed…it’s good.”

  I leaned back on my elbows and watched the sun sinking. “How long do you honestly think we can keep this up?”

  He took another drink, licked his lips, and said, “We can do this as long we want. There aren’t any rules.”

  “Thank you.”

  He lit two smokes, and I took one. “…For?”

  “Being the guy I can count on to do the dirty work.”

  With a shrug, he gazed over the pool. “It’s what I’m here for—loving and protecting you and those you care about.”

  “You ever going to let me get my hands dirty?”

  He shook his head. “Not if I can fucking help it. You’re the dark prince here; I’m just the badass biker. I’ll deal with the shit. I’ll bathe in fucking filth if it keeps you up on the pedestal.”

  “You know that’s a Dominant quality…”

  “Not really,” he argued, puffing on his smoke. The last of the sun hit his long blonde hair, and it shimmered like gold. “It’s a good submissive trait, but not every bottom can handle pedestaling the top.”

  “Are you ever going to get tired of that chain around your neck?”

  “I will never,” he swore, looking me straight in the eye, “ever take this off. You will have to pull it from my dead, bloody body cause I’m putting up one helluva fight.”

  “DS!” We both turned our heads to look at Iris. “Deacon and Sal. Dominant and Sadist!”

  We shook our heads, amused by her silliness. “I think she needs to be done.”

  “Probably,” I agreed as he hopped up.

  Taking several bags from the inside of his cut, he tossed them onto the outdoor kitchen cabinet. “She is in no danger of moving.”

  “Are you about ready to see if we can get the glass out of her feet?”

  “Yeah,” he said, offering a hand.

  For the next ninety minutes, we sat with flashlights balanced in our teeth, razorblades in our hands, and a dish between us as we picked out every last shard of glass. Iris slept almost the entire time.

  “If I lick her feet anymore, she’s going to think we’re into foot jobs.”

  “You want to order some dinner?” I asked, getting up. There was a slight chill in the air, so I grabbed a blanket from inside and tossed it on her. “Pizza, Chinese, or Italian?” Wearing my ball cap backward to keep his hair out of the way, Cruz grinned. “Italian it is. You know for a guy who hated Italians when we started this, you sure do like swallowing a lot of sausage.”

  “I’m very aware of this fact,” he said, dropping his swim trunks and stepping into the hot tub. I called the local joint and placed an order with specific instructions to knock on the gate and leave it on the table. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey as he requested, “Would you hurry up and get in here?”

  “Holy shit,” I said, standing on the seat in the warm water. “That is amazing.”

  “Because we worked our asses off today,” he replied, opening the bottle. His fingers tugged at the hem of my trunks as those sad blue eyes coaxed with a genuine willingness to make me happy. “I’ll get the food, Pretty Boy.”

  “You know you’re too good to me.”

  “I think you’re pretty damned awesome to me,” he said as I eased into the bubbles. Beneath the surface of the water, his fingers latched onto mine, and I leaned closer. His hand slid over my cheek, and he slowly kissed me. His lips were passionate and tender as he showed me how to love. “You gotta slow down with the girls if you’re going to keep her.”

  I tilted my head, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you are a bit of a slut, Sal.”

  If anyone other than Deacon Cruz had called me a slut, I would’ve hurt them. But somehow, he managed to numb the words and make me understand. “You need to grow
up and stop sticking your dick in every pussy that wet winks at ya.”

  “… Wet winks?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a solemn nod. “You’ve got walls up with women, and they need to come down. You must let Iris in, or she won’t stay.”

  “I’m going to prison…”

  “I know that,” he acknowledged, running his hands over my chest. “But I also know you better than anyone. How many girls are you banging behind bars?”

  “None,” I lied, and we both knew it.

  “Bullshit.” He moved slowly to sit on my lap as I straightened up. “You know it’s bullshit, too.”

  “Cruz, I can feel your dick on mine.”

  “Awesome, I have a penis,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “You’re still evading.” I chuckled as his fingers gripped beneath my chin. “Look at me,” he said, sliding his torso out of the way. “Look at her. Think about how many times you’ve been with another man. And then tell me how many women you’ve been with since you met her.”

  I wasn’t biting, but I did bellyache. “I’ve told you about what I’m doing with Dale Archer and why.”

  “And I understand that!” He shouted in my face, but all I wanted to do was kiss him again. “You’re missing the critical ingredient with Iris—communication—and until you find that, you risk losing her every single day.”

  Holding the phone, I close my eyes at the memory of us.

  “Whose name was on the DNA?

  With a heavy sigh, Dom informs, “Deacon Cruz.”

  “Jesus. Fuck. No.”

  49

  An Olive Branch

  September 18

  Sitting in my gray sweatpants, I’m watching some cooking show in the middle of the day while Ronnie is out looking at houses. I’m bored out of my friggin mind. Flopping on my back, I listen to the owl for wisdom.

  “I swear if I get out of here, I’m going to have an owl in every room for the rest of my life.” Hearing the squeak of the door, I mumble, “What did you forget?”

  “Apparently, I lost my Phoenix.” I hear my Tennessee Whiskey and fall drunk. “And I’ve come to restart his fire.”